


werebabies? werebabies.

by poetictragedy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Masturbation, and stiles wants his werebabies., but there's none of that in here so you're good., cracky cracky crack, peter is hot since his resurrection, stiles babbles, talk of possible MPREG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetictragedy/pseuds/poetictragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Stiles sees Peter post-resurrection and he really, really, wants to have his werebabies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	werebabies? werebabies.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't even remember why I wrote this but I'm not sorry about it. 
> 
> Also, I know that Stiles doesn't really babble and I've seen people complain about that so... whoops? :s

Stiles should be worried when a supposed-be-dead werewolf shows up at his house in the middle of the night with Derek but, really, he isn’t. He doesn’t know why he’s not afraid of Peter but he thinks it has to do with the fact that he grew a goatee while he was dead and who even knew that was possible? Still, he can’t stop staring down at where the werewolves are standing and he swallows thickly, wondering just how good their super-freaky senses are because he’s pretty sure (ninety-nine point nine percent) that he’s aroused right now.

That thought makes Stiles groan and he closes his eyes, putting a hand against his forehead as he sighs, rubbing at it furiously. He keeps trying to tell his body that Peter fucking Hale is not wank material and that he’s a bad guy, someone who tried to kill him and his friends. Someone that severely hurt the girl he is - was? - in love with. 

But his body doesn’t listen and, well, neither does his dick because it’s pressing against the front of his pajama pants now as he thinks about how good Peter looks with that fucking goatee.

When Stiles opens his eyes and looks down at the yard, Peter and Derek are gone and he breathes a sigh of relief, scrubbing a hand over his head slowly, scratching his scalp. He turns away from the window and goes over to the bed, sitting down on the edge carefully, wondering why the Hales would show up but not, you know, break into his window like they always do.

Stiles decides he’s too tired to think about it and he lays down, turning the lamp off before pulling the blankets over himself. As he closes his eyes, Stiles thinks he can hear the faint sound of howling off in the distance but he ignores it, letting sleep wrap it’s arms around him.

* * *

 

The next day proves to be as uneventful as Stiles thought it would be, minus the fact that Jackson is strutting around school acting more douchey than usual but, really, that’s to be expected because it’s Jackson. Still, the day is boring and all Stiles wants to do is go home, do his homework, and then go practice his lacrosse skills with Scott before going to his house for dinner with his mom.

Of course, the universe has different plans and it throws a curve ball his way in the form of Peter Hale. 

Peter Hale, who’s standing on his front porch.

Once-paralyzed, then pronounced dead, Peter Hale.

God, Stiles is fucked.

“Stiles,” Peter greets, tipping his head toward the teenage boy when he gets out of his Jeep, letting the door slam loudly behind him.

“What do you want with me? I’m just a poor, defenseless human being and, really, I wouldn’t be good to eat because I have literally no meat on my bones.” To demonstrate this fact, Stiles lifts his shirt up and shows his stomach, patting it lightly. “See?”

Peter just smiles and shakes his head. “I was hoping we could talk,” he says, simply, and Stiles’ heart jumps in his chest as he drops his shirt. Seriously, why did he just show a fucking werewolf (and a hot one at that) his stomach?

“Talk,” he parrots, bobbing his head as he works his jaw from side to side slowly, trying to look anywhere and everywhere that isn’t Peter. “Okay.”

“Can we do it inside?” Peter motions to the door with a large hand, fingers curved slightly toward the sky and the things Stiles would do to have those digits inside of him right now.

Tearing his eyes away from Peter’s hand, Stiles blinks at him and nods. “Yeah, of course,” he says, chuckling nervously as he jingles his keys around and hops up onto the porch. When he passes the werewolf, Stiles breathes in deeply and takes in the scent of pine, ashes, and something that smells like Axe body spray… which is exactly what Stiles doesn’t need because, holy shit, he already wants Peter badly enough.

After sliding the key into the lock and twisting the knob, Stiles pushes the door open and pulls his backpack off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thump. Ah, yes, that would be his Chemistry book making such a loud noise and Stiles kicks the bag out of the way so that Peter doesn’t trip over it. 

“So, what do you want to talk about?” Stiles asks, pulling his hoodie away from his shoulders before tossing it toward the couch. It falls to a pile on the floor about a foot short from his target and Stiles shrugs as he turns to look at Peter, whose gaze is fixated on a picture of his mother on the wall. “That’s my mom,” he offers, lifting a hand to scrub at the nape of his neck, blinking to try and keep the tears at bay.

Peter nods slowly and keeps looking at the photo. “She was beautiful,” he whispers and Stiles chokes back a sob, rubbing furiously at his face to keep himself from crying but it’s not exactly working. “You have her eyes.”

“Is this where you say  _‘oh what big eyes you have’_  and eat me for dinner? ‘Cause, hello, I don’t wanna live that cliche and I will burn ever single read top and hoodie that I own.”

“You’re referring to Little Red Riding hood,” Peter says, his voice half amused.

“Well, duh.” Dropping his hands, Stiles shoves them into his pocket and watches the way Peter tilts his head slowly, exposing his neck. He stares at the expanse of skin and licks his lips, trying not to think about attaching his lips to it while Peter fucks him into the mattress… or into the forest bed; Stiles isn’t picky.

After a moment of silence, Peter turns to Stiles and smiles softly. “I want to talk about you, Stiles.”

“Me? Why me? I just told you I’m a Grade-A defenseless human that’s only good for research and a chew toy,” he says, immediately regretting the last two words.

“So my nephew has used you as a ‘chew toy’?” One of Peter’s eyebrows arches and he keeps smiling that soft, warm smile that makes Stiles want to jump him.

Wrinkling his nose, Stiles shakes his head violently and laughs. “Do you really think that Derek and I have been together?” Peter shrugs facially and Stiles lets out an exasperated sigh. “I have not been with Derek, nor will I ever be,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance. “Now, go on — tell me if I’m lying.”

There’s a beat of silence and Peter grins, nodding slowly.

“Well?” Stiles asks, batting his eyelashes up at the werewolf.

“You’re telling the truth.” The confirmation comes out in a hushed voice and Stiles loses his breath for a second. It comes back in a huge gulp and he coughs, putting a hand against his chest before beating against it, doubling over as the coughing fit continues.

Peter stares at him and takes a step forward, patting him on the back. “Stiles,” he says and the teenager shakes his head, straightening up quickly, still coughing a few times while Peter laughs at him. “You’re okay.”

“I could have died and you’re laughing at me!” Stiles is offended and, frankly, a little upset that Peter is just standing there, laughing and smirking and looking perfect for someone who just came back from the dead. 

“You weren’t going to die,” Peter says, still smirking, “but I’m sorry for laughing at you and you’re almost-unfortunate ending.”

Huffing, Stiles crosses his arms over his chest again and nods curtly. “So, why do you want to talk about me, again?”

“Oh, I’ve already gotten the information I came for.” Licking his lips, Peter gives Stiles a smile and turns to walk toward the door, boots clacking against the floor with each step. “See you around, Stiles.”

“Wait!” Stiles calls out, taking a step forward, biting his lip when Peter stops and turns around, quirking a brow. “That’s all you wanted to know — if Derek and I were together, or whatever?”

Peter shrugs and smiles. “Maybe,” he says quietly, eyes roaming over Stiles.

“Why would you want to know that and why, exactly, wouldn’t you just ask Derek?” It’s confusing to Stiles and, okay, he’s not upset that Peter is in his house but he wishes that the werewolf were a little less clothed.

“Because my nephew is a good liar and he can always get his untruths by me.”

That makes Stiles laugh and he claps a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, but Derek can lie to you and you can’t detect it? I wish he would teach me how to do that so I can lie to him and he won’t call me on my bullshit,” he says behind his hand, still giggling every few seconds.

“I doubt he would teach you.” Peter slides his hand off the doorknob and turns, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at Stiles, smiling. “Are you alright, Stiles? You smell… different.”

“I’m totally okay,” Stiles squeaks out and he can tell by the look on Peter’s face that he caught that lie. Damn werewolves and their freaky powers, damn them to hell! “Okay, maybe not ‘okay’ but I’m not, you know, upset or angry or anything.”

Peter hums and nods slowly, leaning back against the door. “Then what is it?”

“Are you really playing the whole ‘tell uncle Peter what’s wrong’ thing right now?”

“No, but I can,” Peter answers, grinning. “Stiles, tell uncle Peter what’s wrong.”

And, wow, that should not turn Stiles on as much as it does but he can’t help it.

Huffing, Stiles shrugs and sorts through his thoughts, pursing his lips together as he tries to find an acceptable way of saying ‘I really want to fuck you and have your werebabies if I can.’

“I don’t know why - or how - you got so hot and less creepy but I like it,” he says, the words just falling out of his mouth. “And I really want to have sex with you even though I don’t really like guys? I mean, there was this one time where I saw Scott in the showers and he was hard and I thought, ‘hey, wow, that’s pretty hot’ and I jerked off to the image in my bedroom. But that was years ago and I’m pretty sure I’m still in love with Lydia Martin but, god, I want to have you werebabies or…whatever.”

When Stiles finally finishes talking, he snaps his mouth shut and blushes deeply, dropping his gaze to the ground to avoid looking at Peter, who’s probably going to laugh at him at any moment. His ears and neck burn as he keeps blushing, mentally kicking himself for saying all of those things and he wouldn’t blame the werewolf if he laughed at him. Really, he wouldn’t.

“Werebabies?” Peter asks and he only sounds half amused.

Stiles looks up and bites his lower lip, nodding. “You know, what happens when you fuck someone while you’re a werewolf and you knock them up. They have your weird little werebabies but I honestly think that ours would be adorable,” he answers quickly, the words blurring together.

“You want to have my babies.”

“Yes,” Stiles answers, cheeks burning up. “Your babies, not Derek’s. His babies would be the ones you see on TV that cry all night long and give you the death glare whenever they want something.”

To Stiles’ amazement, Peter laughs - really laughs - and shakes his head. “You’re cute,” he says and moves forward, cupping Stiles’ jaw in his hand, thumb brushing along the smooth skin of his cheek. “If it were possible for men to have babies with other men, I would let you have my werebabies.”

That nearly knocks the breath out of Stiles and he stares at Peter with wide eyes, just barely tilting into the older man’s touch. Okay, so a really hot werewolf is touching him and he just offered to let Stiles have his babies, if that were at all medically possible. It shouldn’t make him feel the way he does but Stiles really cannot help it because, fuck, Peter is hot in that creepy-uncle sort of way.

“I have to go,” Peter says and he swipes his thumb along Stiles’ jaw as he leans down to kiss his lips slowly, smirking against them. He holds the teenager’s mouth for a moment before pulling away, licking at his lips slowly as he drops his hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Stiles nods numbly and watches Peter leave the house, not moving until the door slams shut behind him. When he moves, Stiles spins and nearly stumbles up the stairs, running toward his room quickly, heart racing in his chest. His cock is hard in his jeans and Stiles moves a hand to the front, pressing his palm against the bulge.

* * *

 

That night, while he’s laying in bed, Stiles jerks off to the thought of Peter fucking him and calls out his name quietly. When he comes down from his orgasm and stops panting harshly, Stiles listens and hears the faint sound of howling coming from the distance, causing him to smirk lightly.

Stiles knows Peter was listening and that makes him hard again.


End file.
